February 13, 2006

Blank Stares

Do not give me that blank stare
You know as well as I do
The reason you are leaving now.
Times seem to have changed,
People seem to have changed.
I have remained the same
In a world that changed around me.
I expected the people I cared for
To care back for me.
I never realized
The fact that was so obvious.
I am just another in their lives,
Not the sole reason they live.
Another stone in the pathway
Another face in the crowd.
I never expect anymore
It is easier this way.
I am not angry you are going,
I am sad you are not staying.
The times we shared fresh in my mind
The times we should have shared
Remain in my heart.
Go if you have to now
Promise me nothing
Time moves along and so shall I
The pain that runs through me now
Shall pass some day to become memories
Then we shall meet dear
With the same blank stare on each others face.

The Truth

The sky seems to open up on me,
The light getting too dim to see,
Lend me light me dear friend,
Told me up till the end.
Hope runs away from us,
But we aren’t ones to make a fuss.
We are enough of strength to the other,
Of rest of the world we don’t bother.
The worlds an amazing place to behold,
Of stories and tales still to be told,
We are the ones who shall see
Of all that we can ever be.
Stand by me my dear one,
Tell me the truth of things undone,
I am the person that you have seen,
In your dreams, what you have been.
Dated: 11:02:04

February 7, 2006


What is it about people that makes you like them or dislike them? How come some opinions change over time, some over a period of minutes and some stay the same no matter how long it has been since you last had contact with them?

Opinions are the result of instant judgment that people do unconsciously. The judging factors lie in the judgor rather than the judgee. Main criteria are whether the person resembles what we think are the features of a likeable person. For someone who likes to be well groomed, this would mean that the other person is presentable and seems to take care in the way that he/she appears, while to a person who believes that looking shabby is the way to go then, that is what he/she will look for.

Once we are done with the superficial level, then we get into the nitty-gritty details of that persons character. This is based on two parts - the one that is prescribed by the society as to what a normal sane person should be and the other what the personal thought process prescribes. It is difficult to quote examples for this but I shall try. In most societies, smoking and drinking are considered bad habits. To some it is a vice, to others it is pleasure. When a person from a closed family that strongly believes not smoking and not drinking comes into the open world for higher studies, employment or some reason, the first impression that is formed is one of dislike. This is the societal prescription taking effect.

There will be circumstances that a non-smoking and non-drinking person is in the company of people with the above vices and still likes them. Then their personal judgment of the people deems that even though he/she considers it a vice, the people who do so do it according to their free will and that their other characters are good enough to compensate for the vices.

Whenever a person says that he/she likes or doesn’t like you, do not take it personally. Remember that more times than not, it is their upbringing and not the person. If that person has actually spent some quality time with you and then there is like/ dislike, then that is an opinion formed beyond the boundaries of society and that is the real opinion.

The concept of writing

What makes a writer different from all the people around him? This has been a question that I have thought over and I am yet to come up with a competent answer. I can remember the first time I tried my hand at writing. My friend has written a piece called “The Vice Principal”, that was a take on a staff in school that he did not like. When I came away from that school and joined another, I was so against my chemistry teacher that I took the lead from that and wrote a small poem called “My Chemistry Teacher”. Plagiarism got me started.

Ever since then ideas and thoughts have come, some as torrents and others as a trickle and I have spent time to make sure that I pen them down, if not for others to read, at least for myself. Half of what I write seems to be really bad when I read them the next time, that I am forced to change half the words.

What makes a person who can write so special? The thing that comes to mind is they are able to put their thoughts to paper. That is thing that I love. The ability to convey the thought process that goes on in ones head and to be able to transfer it to another is amazing. Even though what I intend to pass and what is received is altogether different, the opportunity that arises is mind boggling.

It does not matter what others think of ones writing. When it comes to expressing ones views, it is not guaranteed that someone else shall endorse what I think. I can not write what others want me to write. That is not the purest form of writing. Then what is?

One could be when you write for the sake of writing. There is nothing more pure than sitting with a thought process in your head, lead by some unknown hand to a place, where you want to save that thought for all eternity, so that you can revisit it as and when you please. That for me is the purest from of writing.

Writers are neither born nor are they made. They just are.

February 2, 2006

Unfinished Business

The inspiration stops,
I am not able to continue the flow.
my hero lays waiting for my pen,
to let him finish the villain off.

I am not able to think as to why the killing must be done,
I can not fathom the hero's idea,
even though he is my creation.

the heroine waits beside,
willing me to go on,
to send her on the happy ending ever after.
her needs I can understand.
she is over come by the magic called love.

my favorite of the lot
is the bad, the villain.
I see more of myself in this man
than I do in the entire cast.
he is dark and scary,
doing as he pleases, he is not scared
swimming against the tide of the flow.
he was the toughest character to create,
and his memory shall last further than the other two.

the other people in the plot of mine
pale to insignificance
in the light of the fever of these three,
the fight between the good, fair and the bad.

I cant go on any longer,
I leave my story on the couch,
an unfinished business.


As I stood staring at those eyes,
A solitary thought that was running.
Am I alone in my thoughts
Or is she thinking what I am?
I was in love with this woman
But could not say what she thought.
She quipped bringing to my senses,
" You are thinking what I am thinking?"
I was suprised to realise
I so transperant to her.
I smiled at her, then she frowned.
"I want to know what you are thinking,
And it is funny to you?"
Then it dawned upon me,
Ones thoughts are ones personal realm.
Access is never granted nor can be,
The only way in is through my mouth.

The Snake Charmer

I want to write,
But cannot think of a thing to say.
My ideas do not flow, T
ry and try as I may.

I am jolted out of the blue
But the sound of a pipe being blown.
I know that is no use anymore,
My thoughts have simply flown.

I looked out of the window,
Hoping to catch the origin of the sound.
Maybe I shall be given back my idea
Gift wrapped and bound.

A crowd has gathered before my gate,
I am more curious than the cat that died.
I venture from the domain I have set
To restrain myself unlike the tide.

I walk out of the gate
To the sound of a snake charmer's pipe,
Eking out a living
To feed his family's gripe.

He plays the flute like a maestro
In front of an appreciating crowd,
To invoke his snake to come out
From its self induced shroud.

The cobra rears up its head
So majestic and beautiful.
To the awe-struck crowd it appears
Like a pet so dutiful.

It has been rendered impotent,
By its owner, in fear
Fear of being undone by a far better being
That tries to save its skin dear.

Unaware of the lack of poison,
It dances to the unheard tune.
It sways to the vibes of the charmer’s feet
The charmer who is now immune.

He makes the snake strike him
To the scare of all
Lest he be poisoned by the snake
And at that very spot fall.

The serpent hisses a bit and hushes us all
The only sound of the snake hiss
The charmer stops and places the hood,
"A paisa for the snake, mister and miss"

The crowd pay what they please and then disperse, T
he snake charmer moves on too far to see,
I am now left standing alone, pondering
What to become of my hero and me